


Heartstrings

by PaddyChan



Series: Heartbeat [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: And a brave one, For Staubengel, M/M, Non-abducted Peter, Peter is a Little Shit, Ronan doesn't do feelings, Shameless Smut, This was supposed to be half as long, Who needs sleep at 2 am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 08:11:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13050021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaddyChan/pseuds/PaddyChan
Summary: When Ronan picks Peter up from Earth to show him Hala, things certainly don't go as planned.





	Heartstrings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Staubengel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Staubengel/gifts).



> A little gift to Staubengel, who writes the most amazing StarAccuser Fanfics you'll ever read :)  
> I really hope your muse'll kiss you soon again, so you may restart working on The Wars We Fight... If anyone of you hasn't read it already, I seriously recommend it. I shamelessly stole the Halori from her by the way and I regret nothing.

“Ooh-oo child, things are gonna get easier…” Softly singing along to the lyrics, Peter turned up the volume on his iPod. “Ooh-oo child, things'll get brighter.”  
The last syllable got swallowed, as Peter got tossed out of the way too hard bed… and was send crashing face first right into the bathroom door as soon as he had gotten up again, when yet another impact shook the ship’s bones. “Holy shit.” Carefully, he got up again, however; no third impact followed. Something cracked in his ear and he took out the translator inside. Or rather, what was left of it. Apparently, faceplanting had been a rather unwise move. Fuck. He stuffed the broken pieces in the pockets of his red leather jacket.  
Okay… so, what now. Did an asteroid hit the ship? Did they bump into… whatever there was outer space besides planets, a much too large spacecraft could bump into? None of the rooms had any windows, he couldn’t look outside. Hesitatingly, he made his way to the door, the ship’s owners warning ringing in his ears. _You are not going the leave this room. You are not going to open this door. You are not going to talk to anyone. And turn down that music!_ Of course, Peter didn’t turn down his music. However; he hadn’t attempted to leave the room. Not even once. He’d been an angel. Anyway, whatever had happened out there meant timeout for obedient Peter. He’d make it up with a blowjob. And turning down his music. Maybe. He opened the little screen right next to the door and tapped in the combination of sixteen -someone was a little paranoid- digits.  
_“I told you to stay inside. Go back listening to that terrible music of yours.”_  
“Oh, c’mon!” Really? Was that really necessary? What, if he’d set something on fire by accident? Or suddenly got claustrophobic? Or a black hole opened inside the shower? How was he supposed to get out of here, if anything happened? Oh yeah, he forgot. Ronan never let anything happen. Just wasn’t his style, being a big, bad Kree-Warlord and all.  
Heavy steps got closer and he got ready a few complaints, before noticing, that whoever was in front of the door wasn’t Ronan. There were two muffled voices shouting at each other… and they were already at digit thirteen. There was no way he could hide that quickly, the bed was too far away and the wardrobe needed to be unlocked first- as the door opened, two men stormed inside. One was blue and tall, having muscles on places no other living being could even think of and as bald as one could possibly get. Peter didn’t know shit about aliens, but he could identify a Kree when he saw one. The other one had a sickly white colour and… scales? Yuck. And a tail. Looked more like a lizard than everything else. Furiously, the two of them began searching for something. Lizard-guy opened the wardrobe and started tossing out clothes (thank God Peter didn’t have the time to go and hide there), while the Kree smashed into pieces whatever stuff was on the desk. They were searching for something… and whatever it was, he was pretty sure Ronan wasn’t the slightest bit okay with it. He had told Peter over and over, that no one _-no one-_ would dare to enter his private rooms without permission of the Warlord himself. Yeah… So much for that. Lizard-Guy was finished ripping the wardrobe apart and instead decided to take care of the bed. Carefully, Peter took a single step from behind the door. The most obvious spot in the universe, right behind the opened door, a sad cliché. But since he was pretty certain Lizard-Guy and the Kree would kill him, as soon as they saw him, he should hightail out of here. Preferably without being seen. It only took him a second though, to notice his attempts would be in vain. There was no way they wouldn’t notice him, as soon as he stepped forward. They would follow him and the Kree was probably going to rip off his head with his bare hands. And there was no way he’d die today, at least not without getting laid once more. Or two. Or… fuck it!  
He sprinted forward as quickly as possible, punching a single code containing of three numbers on the screen. He didn’t even finish the second digit, before an angry yell rung in his ears. The Kree… of course, the Kree. Peter punched down the last number and dived through the door as if his life depended on it -which it positively did. Three digits and the door would only open again, if Ronan himself unlocked it, using his fingerprints as well as a scan of his irises -both of them. 911 in case of emergency… and Ronan had told him back then, the idea was a stupid one.  
Right before the door slammed itself shut, Peter cried out in pain, as something hit his upper arm. He looked down. “Fuck!” Whatever it was, that had been shot at him, it had teared off a nice piece of flesh. The door to Ronan’s room was pounded heavily, but didn’t give in. He should get away from here, in case Lizard-Guy and Asshole-Kree called help -or worse, somehow made it through the door. Pressing his hand on the bleeding would on his left arm, he darted off. Ronan… he had to find Ronan. However, he hardly managed to hide in another pathway, as another Lizard-Guy rushed past him. Blood started to drip down his arm. At least the adrenaline kept the pain at bay. He peeled off his jacket and ripped off his grey shirt’s ham, to tightly wrap it around his upper arm twice. He needed to stop the bleeding, or at least slow it down. But above all, he needed to find Ronan. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to think -not his strongest asset, but worth a try.  
Ronan the Accuser was pretty much a force of nature. Like a volcano, ready to erupt every second. Nah, scratch that. Like a volcano erupting all the time, just a little more or less depending on the circumstances. Especially while having sex. There was nothing better than his blue hands on- focus, Quill! Back to topic. Ronan. There was no way the Warlord would willingly allow anybody (besides Peter that is) to enter his private space. He’d be furious. And there was hardly anything in the universe being able to stop a furious Ronan and his hammer. That one time, when Peter had misbehaved yet again since that was what he did best, the Accuser had used said hammer to -focus, Quill! Bad hard-on. Very bad. Okay. There was only one possible place on the Dark Aster, Ronan might be, if he was aware of what was going on and unable to stop it: The cells. Six of them. Designed specially to keep captured those who’d laugh at steel and iron. Unfortunately, Ronan had only given him a single and rather shot guided tour before they took off. Okay, Quill. Move it. 

“Fucking shit!” Carefully, Peter opened the door and peeked outside. It seemed, the Lizard-Guys weren’t aware of him roaming around on the ship yet, but they were everywhere. Seriously, he couldn’t walk down a single floor without having to dodge at least one of them. And on top of all, the blood from his arm had started dipping to the ground, since his shirt was unable to soak any more. Seriously… this was the worst birthday ever! Next year, he’d refuse to do anything besides Netflix and Chill. Probably The Walking Dead or something, since that was the only kind of TV he could talk Ronan into, if he was having a good day.  
He didn’t know how long he already was roaming around on the Aster, searching for wherever the energy-cells might be. He had no clue, except trusting his guts. And seriously, that wasn’t- he stopped in his tracks. Since his translator got smashed, he didn’t understand anything else than plain, old English (and a little Spanish but let’s face it, that wasn’t going to help at all right now). However, the voice clearly had a mocking tone, taunting whomever Lizard-Guy Number Peter-doesn’t-give-a-fuck was talking to.  
The door was wide open, Peter wouldn’t be able to peek inside without being noticed himself. But what if Ronan wasn’t even here? What, if he wasn’t inside, or if all of this was a misunderstanding and Peter was totally wrong? Ronan would be totally pissed (no surprise here, Ronan was always various degrees of pissed, except after just having fucked Peter into oblivion).  
But no.  
Ronan _was_ in there, something _was_ going on here and Peter _wouldn’t_ screw this up.  
Okay. Step One. Get Lizard-Guy out of there. Step Two. Get in there himself. Step Three. Free Ronan before Lizard-Guy was back. Sounded manageable enough.  
Peter looked around. There were a few doors down the floor and -shit. He was bleeding on the ground; it would be totally obvious he’d been here, eavesdropping. He didn’t know if Lizard-Guy’s room was lockable, and even if it was, Peter didn’t have the code. And he couldn’t even ask Ronan, since he wouldn’t understand shit. That totally was not the way he intended getting fucked today.  
Carefully, he sneaked towards the nearest door. There was no screen to enter a code, apparently the room wasn’t important enough to be secured like that. He tapped the red button and silently -thank God- the door opened. Peter stepped inside. Okay… three chairs, a broken basin, a lot of boxes and a pile of dirty and ripped clothes. Tony Stark could probably make weapons for mass destruction out of that, but he was just Peter Quill. The guy who found a crashed spaceship on his way to visit his mother’s grave, somehow managed to drag an unconscious Kree out of the scattered remains, taking him home and by some miracle didn’t get killed afterwards, as soon as Ronan woke up on his couch. He needed a better plan. Think, Quill. For once in your life, think before you do something stupid.

A heavy thud made the Halori turn around. Then another one, a little quieter. He took his blaster and stepped outside. There was blood on the dark floor, drops and streaks. What was going on here? Nobody was supposed to be here! Another noise and the alien crept towards the opened door. There was a mess inside; lots and lots of boxes and- there! Something was moving! The Halori loaded his blaster, pointing at the pile of clothes, taking yet another step. Right behind him, something moved and he swirled around, pulling the trigger… the energy blast being repelled by the door that was falling shut that very moment. He raced forward, slamming the red button next to the door. It shuttered, but didn’t open. With an angry yell, the Halori once again hit the button, but aside from a deep buzz, nothing happened. He had been fooled by… he tossed away the shirt right above the noise. Fooled by a belt-buckle dashing against a chair! Roaring with rage, he shot the door once more.

Peter readjusted his construction one last time. On a wooden box stood a chair that only had left three of its legs and on that was the broken basin, carefully leaning against the red door opener. The door wouldn’t open again, as long as the button was activated from the outside… at least he hoped so. Suck on that, Lizard-face! He rushed through the door, getting to halt in front of six small cells that each were separated by a wall of yellowish buzzing energy… and four Kree inside them.  
“Peter!” The Terran flinched at the sound of his name in Ronan’s harsh accent. “Hey, Roro…” He scratched his head. “Before you start, I broke the translator you gave me when I crashed into the wardrobe… so maybe save up some of the yelling for later? It’s useless anyway, since I won’t understand anything and… Hey guys.” Awkwardly, he waved to the other three Kree-Wariors, who stared at him as if he had five heads or something. “So… How do I unlock these?”  
Ronan growled at him and Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know getting help sucks but it’s not my fault your society is fucked up ten times over. And I’d really like you get outa here before Lizard-Guy gets out of his cosy little room. C’mon, I could use some help here!” There was a heavy impact on the locked door across the floor. Ronan pointed at a screen and showed him a flow of numbers, using his fingers. Peter blinked. “Uhm…” Growling yet again, the Accuser showed him the numbers a second time, this time slower. Again, the door shook heavily and finally, the basin fell down. “Shit!” Quickly, Peter punched in the last digits, before slamming the button below. Within the blink of an eye, the forcefields disappeared. Two Kree made their way to the door, immediately overpowering Lizard-Guy. Ronan grabbed his hammer that was standing right beside his cell, just out of arm’s reach; probably to mock him.  
The Accuser teared the translator out of one of his subordinate’s ear, stuffing it into Peter’s. “I told you to stay INSIDE!” The Terran flinched, as Ronan roared at him. “And I did! But then there were that Lizard-Guy and a Kree dashing inside! They were searching something… they would’ve killed me! I got outside and activated the code! But you told me nobody would enter your room! Nobody! You’d never give permission! I guessed something had gone wrong, I don’t know… I just knew I had to find you and started searching and-” “Treason,” Ronan growled, interrupting his rambling. “Nagdir sold us out to the Halori, promising them partaking in the treasure.” Peter blinked in confusion. “Treasure?” “The treasure is you.”  
“Whoa, Roro… I never took you as one for sweettalk. I mean, I love you, too, and I really-” “Shut up,” the Warlord snapped. “I went to Terra using the Aster, the most outstanding warship Hala has to offer, taking no more than four warriors with me, staying merely a few hours, before taking off again straight after. For what other reason you think I might behave like that, besides treasure or military secrets?” Totally not to take his terranian lover on board, since he promised to show him his home planet for his birthday… “Oh.”  
Ronan growled. “Nagdir sold us out... I shall skin him alive for daring to.” His eyes rested on Peter. “We will retake control of the Dark Aster… And you will stay _here!_ ” He punched a code on the screen and the door locked itself, leaving the Terran behind.

Peter was cold. And he was tired. He had no idea, how long he already was in here, however; the blood puddle underneath him hinted on quite a while. He couldn’t stop the bleeding… He had ripped his shirt apart, to tie off the blood flow a little more, but it wasn’t of much use. He had been losing blood constantly ever since he was shot and it just didn’t stop. He had already sat down, since his legs had attempted to give out. Maybe he should close his eyes a little, trying to sleep… but if he did, he feared he wouldn’t wake up anymore. Just a little, he decided. He was just so very tired...  
With a buzz the door opened, and Ronan entered; his face-paint redone and he himself smelling like the blood he had just bathed in. “Did you learn your lesson?”, he growled; looking at the slumped figure sitting in the strange red blood that had been seeping from the wound in his upper arm. “I said did you learn your lesson?!”, he snapped, taking another step forward. “Peter!” No answer. The Terran didn’t even seem to notice him. The Accuser went towards him, lifting his head. “Do not dare to-” He stopped. The Terran’s cheeks were ashen, his lips white. He could barely hear him breath. “Peter,” he repeated, however; he still didn’t get an answer. Unconscious. Ronan’s eyes widened.  
Bleeding out.  
Peter was bleeding out.  
And he had let him.  
Instead of returning to the one he loved as soon as possible, he had decided to make him wait, to punish him for disobeying. Believing, a little thinking alone would do him good. The wound hadn’t been severe, but he had yet again underestimated the fragile nature of his lover’s species. Peter had even ripped apart his shirt, to add a few more layers on of bandages, attempting to stop the bleeding, but it had been in vain. Ronan’s eyes were glued to the blood that had soaked the messy bandages. He never intended to… he didn’t want… No. No, no, no.  
Carefully, he lifted the Terran; his legs swinging like a ragdoll’s. He needed to close the wound to stop the bleeding that was draining him. His fault. All his fault.  
_“I will never hurt you.”_  
_"Good, because I kinda broke your holo-thingy."_  
Ronan was many things. Kree, Accuser, Warlord, Warrior, ruthless, ignorant, proud. But he had never been a liar… Now he was. He had promised Peter to never let him down, never hurt him, be the one he could trust. Lies. Ashes on his tongue. He howled in pain; way worse than any battle’s wound.  
“Master?”  
“Get Korath to the healing room. _Now._ ” He deactivated the transmitter and quickened his steps. His fingers closed above the wound, to lessen the bleeding that already stained his armour, red on black. He despised it.  
Minutes later, the door to the healing room opened and Ronan entered, Peter laying lifelessly in his arms; looking even smaller pressed to the Accuser’s heavily muscled figure. “Master,” his first mate greeted, however; Ronan didn’t even acknowledge Korath. “Heal him.”

Slowly, Peter regained his consciousness. Okay… White. White everywhere. A hospital? No, he hadn’t been in one of those ever since his mom had been sick all those years ago. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes… or at least tried to do. His left arm was tied to… a box? There was a needle in this wrist, another one in the inside of his elbow, and in between a dark box. Fuck, the needles itched like hell. He tried to rub the spots, but didn’t get too far. Long, strong fingers clasped around his own, weaker ones. “Stop scratching.”  
The Terran forced himself to crack his eyes open. “Hey, Ro… What happened? Where am I?”  
“Don’t call me that,” the Accuser scolded and only now Peter noticed the second person inside; the black guy whom he’d already seen back in the cells. “Hey, Metal-Man… awesome hair-stuff. Does it work against headaches?”  
“What?”  
Ronan growled. “You are talking nonsense.”  
The Terran blinked. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Sorry. I feel a little weird… like… high. Did you guys drug me? Roro! Damn it, I thought that was topic was done for when I had that hard-on for two days straight after-” “Shut up!”, Ronan snapped and Peter pouted, trying to sit up a little, to show how very offended he was. However; he faltered before he was even halfway up. Large, blue hands grabbed his shoulders, pushing him down on the bed again. “You are even weaker than usual… stay down.”  
“What happened?” Peter blinked. “How did I get here? And what the hell is that?” He tugged at the stupid box.  
“Your system was too weak to overcome the minor injury you received by the Halori’s type A6-1g4 blaster. You were bleeding to death. I closed the wound, and attached your blood system to the Multiplier,” Metal-Man explained.  
“The what?”  
“The Multiplier,” the black guy repeated. “As the name says, it is used to multiply blood-cells. Artery-blood gets infused, the blood-cells -in your case the red ones- get cloned and multiplied, before being added back to your blood stream.”  
“Uhm… Wow.” Peter smiled a little. “Thanks, Metal-Man. I owe you.”  
“Leave us,” Ronan commanded.  
“Very well, Master.”  
As soon as Korath had left the room, Ronan’s long hand carefully clasped Peter’s cheek. “Are you alright?”  
The Terran smiled, touched by the Accuser’s worry. It was extremely rare and thus even more precious. “I’m alright, Ro. A little lightheaded maybe… But I’ll be fine. Thanks for bringing me here. It’s not-” “Do not thank me.”  
Peter frowned. “What? Why? But I’m sure you did. You would’ve cut off everybody else’s hands.”  
The Kree took a deep breath and Peter’s eyes widened as he realised the reason behind it. Insecurity… Ronan was insecure. The Warlord, who’d face a thousand enemies without even blinking, felt insecure. He opened his mouth, to ask about the matter, but the Accuser cut off his mouth. “It is my fault.”  
“Your fault?” The Terran frowned. “What do you mean? You brought me here and got me patched up, even though I know for you, it’s a shame to care for others. That’s a huge thing, Ro! You saved-” “I left you alone,” the Kree snarled. “I deemed to punish you for your disobedience, left you alone to ponder about your misbehaviour.” By now, he was all but howling the words. “Left you bleeding. Left you _dying!_ ”  
Peter blinked. “You mean… you weren’t just late because of all the Accuser-stuff you had to do?”  
“No.”  
“And you just decided it’d be the greatest idea ever to leave me bleeding on the floor because I ran for my life instead of getting killed by Lizard-Guy and that Kree back in your room?”  
“I all but wished to punish you for disobeying… Had I known… I would have returned immediately. But I did not…” Ronan went down to his knees next to the bed. “I swore my very self to you. All those who would dare to hurt you, I swore to repay ten times worse. All those who would dare to talk behind your back, I swore to cut off their tongues. I left the Halori who dared to shoot you alive… barely… so you might take your revenge yourself.” Peter opened his mouth to protest, but before he could even start, Ronan resumed talking. “However… it is me, who is responsible. Me, who nearly killed you, as I was too blinded to see the extend of your state. It was not the blaster that threatened your life, it was me the very second, I broke my oath. When I declared myself to you, you asked me to refrain from killing those who would dare to do you injustice, thus I shall not ask for the punishment that would be rightfully mine to take.” Slowly and thoroughly, Ronan took off his armour, until his upper body was unclad. From his belt, he took a single knife. “I hereby accuse myself of breaking my oath to you, thus losing my honour and the privilege to name you my beloved.” On his palms, he calmly presented Peter the long, sharp knife so the Terran may watch. “As you are unable take it out yourself, I myself shall fulfil my punishment.” He grabbed the knife with his left hand, and carefully positioned the blade right above his other arm’s biceps. A small line of black blood formed on his skin and Peter’s eyes widened, as he understood what Ronan was up to.  
“Stop!” Peter rushed forwards; tearing the needles out of his skin in the process. “Stop, stop, stop!” His own hand closed around Ronan’s and the Warlord nodded. “You wish to take part in my punishment. It is honourable to do so. I shall-” “Your arm! You were going to cut off your own friggin’ arm!” “As you made me rephrase my oath, I deemed this the fitting punishment, since I had to refrain from cutting my throat,” Ronan explained, while Peter’s still pale face got even paler.  
“You stupid… I can’t even… I don’t… Put that _thing_ away!” He swatted the knife out of Ronan’s fingers (or attempted to, but the Kree went along with him and let go of the hilt). Then, he carefully cradled the Accuser’s face. “You’re ten kinds of fucked up,” he told the Kree. “Even worse than me… and that’s saying something. I’ll never behave the way you want me to, since I always had a problem with authority… might be the reason I already lost five jobs this year. But I do love you. I always will, no matter how fucked up you are. We just… we have to talk about that kind of thing, okay? Cutting off arms isn’t going to help anybody.”  
Behind his back, the Multiplier started beeping and Ronan carefully lifted up the Terran, putting him back on the hard bed, before adjusting the machine once again. “Korath will look after you. We will arrive on Hala in thirteen hours terrarian time.” 

Peter was going mad. Seriously.  
It wasn’t that Ronan didn’t keep his promise or attempted to bring him back to earth; hell, he even introduced Peter to the last two remaining members of his crew, even though the Terran knew, in the Kree’s fucked up mind, such actions showed weakness. Probably that was the reason one of them dared to mock Ronan, who then decided to beat the living crap out of him right after, telling him he was only left alive since there were four people needed to steer the Aster. No. It was way worse.  
Ronan refused to touch him.  
No strong fingers caressing his spine, no hugs (well, to be honest those had always been rare), no kissing and above all: No sex. Not the tiniest bit. Not even once. It’d been more than two weeks and thanks to the awesome blood-multiply-thingy he had been attached to, Peter was completely fine again after a little less than half a day.  
He’d tried to talk to Ronan about what had happened. The Kree had fucked up, yes, but instead of talking to Peter about it, he was now punishing himself, refraining from touching him; even talked to him only because Peter had nobody else to talk to on Hala with the exception of Korath. However; Metal-Man for some reason was a huge Softy beneath his hard skin and Peter just couldn’t drag him into his personal problems as well. No, he had a way better plan instead: He’d apply straight to Ronan’s sense of honour. Yes, he did feel a little about it, since he knew honour was pretty much the greatest thing out there in Kree-society. But he was desperate… and desperate times called for desperate measures.  
The door opened and Ronan entered (his house on Hala was pretty much as spartan as his room and bathroom on the Dark Aster, not even a single photo or hologram or anything). He carried a tray of food, mostly consisting of some kind of meat -probably the small bowl of vegetables was only added for Peter’s sake.  
“I want you to fulfil your oath.”  
Ronan nodded, as if he had been waiting for these words all along, as he set down the tray. “I shall fetch the ceremonial knife immediately.”  
“No.” Peter flinched. “Not that. I mean… I want you to touch me.”  
For a moment, Ronan was silent. “I shall not,” he then answered. “It is not my-” “I don’t _care_!”, Peter complained. “We knew things wouldn’t be easy, you being the big, bad Kree-Accuser-thingy and me just being… well… me. You promised to give me everything I’d ever need. And right now, I need you! I just- _hmpf!_ ” Harsh lips on his own broke the Terran’s rant. Roughly, his mouth was forced open and a black tongue invaded him, supressing his own, domineering the kiss. Peter moaned, the sound getting swallowed by the Kree’s mouth.  
Ronan’s long fingers dug in Peter’s hair, forcing his head in position, while Peter’s nails scratched on the surface of Ronan’s black armour. The Accuser forced his lover to retreat, until his back hit the wall and Peter moaned once again, as he was lifted and wrapped his legs around the Kree’s muscled waist. Ronan tasted like smoke, hot stones, something that was pure strength and simply Ronan.  
Shortly before Peter would have slapped Ronan’s shoulder (the common signal for “Need air, don’t wanna die here, even though it’d totally be worth it”), the Accuser withdrew. However, he simply allowed Peter to draw two much needed breaths, before claiming his mouth once more.  
“Ghmehmaloth.”  
Ronan lifted a non-existent eyebrow. “You were saying?”  
“Get me out of my clothes, damn it!”, Peter answered. However, he should’ve known better, since the following sounds and the suddenly cool air certainly indicated the fact Ronan had simply ripped his shirt apart. Suddenly realising the Kree, in his own way, was just as needy and starved for affection as he was, Peter felt another wave of arousal flooding him.  
Ronan opened his trousers; however, Peter shook his head. “Need to… touch you,” he gasped. Seconds later, the Accuser’s armour fell to the ground, and the Terran’s fingers started roaming above the bulking muscles of his chest. For a few precious moments, Ronan allowed the caress, then he caught Peter’s wrists in one of his hands; nailing them above his head, before giving his nipple a hard pinch. Peter moaned shamelessly, as the sweet pain shot straight to his aching cock.  
“You disobeyed,” the Accuser finally growled. “Disregarded the order I gave you, making me break the oath I swore to you. Do you plead yourself guilty?”  
“I would never dare to- _Ahh...!_ Yes. _Yes!_ Guilty!” Ronan released the nipple, before carefully stroking the piece of flesh he had tortured harshly mere seconds ago. Finally, blue fingers unceremoniously pulled down Peter’s pants, freeing his aching cock. The tip was already red and swollen. “I would take you without preparation; you don’t deserve it,” the Accuser growled, a single finger tracing down his cleft, until it reached the hidden hole. “But you are too _weak_ to take me, aren’t you? Too small, too _pitiful_.” Peter moaned loudly, his cock twitching, when finally, Ronan’s middle finger sank into him to the first knuckle. The Accuser’s muscled body pressed him even tighter to the wall. After nearly two weeks of abstinence, the Terran’s muscles had to be loosened again, or he would do serious damage to his system… but if it weren’t for that, Ronan would simply take him without even considering the idea of preparation.  
Once again, Ronan’s mouth overtook his, and as his tongue pushed inside, he added yet another finger to his first. Nearly pulling out, he slammed his fingers back straight after, making Peter’s head hit the wall with a loud thud. Taking only what time was indispensable, he spread his fingers, forcefully loosening the ring of muscles clasping around them. No more than a minute later, he pulled his fingers back; forcing yet another moan from his lover’s throat.  
Suddenly, the tip of Ronan’s cock pressed against his opening. Peter’s eyes widened. Ronan always had prepared him with three fingers first, making sure he was loose enough to take him. “Ro-“ He didn’t finish, as the tip of the Kree’s cock filled him, his whole length sliding in slowly, carefully, but without stopping once. Peter cried out, as soon as Ronan was buried inside him. Since he had been prepared so little, he felt _too_ full… bursting with the amount of hot, unyielding flesh inside him. Whimpering, his head sank to the wall.  
Careful, almost tenderly, his lover pulled back, until he nearly slipped out of the tight clenching muscle. Strong, ruthless fingers grabbed his hair, pulling up his head, compelling him to stare into the Kree’s brilliant purple orbs… and forcing a scream from his throat as well as tears in his eyes, as Ronan snapped his hips forward; pushing back all the way inside in a punishing pace. “Too much,” Peter cried. “Please! I can’t, just…”  
“Shut your mouth,” Ronan snarled, withdrawing once more, before starting to fuck his lover in a brutal, punishing pace. Tears rolled down the Terran’s cheeks; pleasure and pain becoming simply too much, mixing with each other, overwhelming him. Only as two of Ronan’s fingers forced themselves in his mouth, he realised the nonsense he’d been babbling in his mindless state. Automatically, he started sucking the Kree’s fingers; swirling his tongue around them; swallowing down the salvia that suddenly filled his mouth. As Ronan released his wrists to lift the Terran a little higher, and impaled him on an even deeper angle, his cry was silenced by yet another finger intruding his mouth. It was too much, way too much, all at once… he couldn’t take it, it was… Bliss. Pure bliss. He moaned around the Kree’s fingers and his blown pupils met his lover’s eyes. There was something deep down hidden inside, something… vulnerable. As if he was frightened. Another thrust, making Peter’s eyes roll back in his head. No, Ronan and vulnerability didn’t fit. He probably didn’t even know what if felt like and… Peter’s thoughts went to nothing, as instead of his fingers, Ronan’s tongue forced his mouth into submission. He was so close now. Seconds away from coming… He couldn’t hold back any longer… and screamed into the Kree’s mouth, as his nipple was twisted in the most torturing manner; sending sharp agony down his spine. “You won’t come,” the Accuser growled. “Not yet, at least. Do you understand?” Peter felt fresh tears roll down his cheeks, as Ronan’s cock suddenly stopped moving, buried in his tight, used hole to the root. “Do you under _stand_?”, the Kree snapped and Peter nodded; a small sob shaking his body. “Y-Yeah…”  
Without answering, Ronan resumed the brutal pace of his hips, torturing Peter’s nipples until they were red and swollen, whenever he got too close to coming. By now, the Terran was too exhausted to even lift his head; forcing Ronan to grab his hair once more. His love was tired, he couldn’t take much more, the vulnerable, weak, _beautiful_ thing he was… and even Ronan himself couldn’t hold on much longer. Too long he had refused to cum in the tight, hot hole of Peter’s ass.  
Stroking his lover’s seeping, red cock a single time was enough and Peter came between their bodies, smearing his come between their skin; a sobbing mess who didn’t even have enough energy to babble nonsense anymore or kiss him back, as Ronan invaded his mouth once more.  
As the tight walls of the Terran clenched around him, Ronan growled. Twice more he rutted into his - _his!_ \- love, before allowing himself to spill his seed inside. Peter sighed in bliss, as he felt himself being filled and carefully, Ronan lifted him from his position at the wall. As his cock -not soft, he’d need to come at least twice more to get to that state- slipped out, Peter felt the Kree’s seed dripping out. He tried to clench his muscles, to keep Ronan’s semen inside, but it was in vain. His hole had been used too well; in a gush, loads of cum dripped down his legs and to the ground, as Ronan picked him up. The Kree carried him to the bed, carefully putting a blanket above the Terran’s limp body.  
“N go.”  
“Sleep now.”  
“Don’t go,” Peter mumbled, a little more clearly now, even though he couldn’t even force himself to open his eyes. “Need to talk… tomorrow.”  
He fell asleep before he had even finished his plea and Ronan hesitated. He had punished Peter for misbehaving, breaking his own oath -to protect him, to never let anyone harm him- in the process. He had lost any right to call Peter his beloved back then, or himself his protector. He wasn’t even allowed to touch him anymore. It all had gone in a single, cruel act of neglect.  
“Please…”, the Terran mumbled in his sleep. “Ro…”  
Sighing, the Kree shrugged off his boots and pulled Peter in his arms.


End file.
